Monday, March 25, 2013

Not Enough Wine In The World

Let me make one thing really clear, I really don't drink.  Like ever.  I'm not opposed to it, I just can't afford the extra calories every day.  Not only that, but with three children, I'm really afraid that if I started, I wouldn't ever stop.
You see, when you have all daughters, and in particular one who is about to turn 10, there are enough hormones running rampant through your home to stave off menopause for at least 10 middle aged women.  Seriously.  It's like all hormones, all the time right now.
     The Big One is killing me.  A little at a time, but I swear she is taking years off my life.  She goes from super pissed to crying in about 0.2 seconds these days.  Her bad attitude is off the charts.  She is a total angsty, moody teenager three years before we should have hit this, and I just do not get it.  The other day, I made her cry because I told her she was being a pout pout fish.  If you haven't ever seen it, there is an adorable children's book that we love, The Pout Pout Fish.    I paraphrased some lines some lines for her, telling her that she was a Pout Pout Fish with a Pout Pout face, spreading dreary wearies all over the place.  Then I ask her to turn her frown upside down and be a Kiss Kiss Fish with a Kiss Kiss face and spread cheerie cheeries all over the place instead.  That is all straight from the book, and totally cute.
I suppose I just spoiled the ending of that book for you if you haven't ever read it, but still totally worth the read.
     Anyway, from that, I was told that I was mean, because I was name calling.  True, I did call her a Pout Pout Fish, but......Seriously?  I mean, SERIOUSLY?
The point of quoting the silly book to her was to make her smile.  I wanted to make her giggle and tell me I was being silly, and I would even take an eye roll with an exasperated "Mooommm" as long as there was at least the start of a grin.

But no.

Instead, I got tears and to be told how mean I was because I called her a Pout Pout Fish.
I know in my head that this is going to get progressively worse.  I realize that we haven't hit our hormonal stride yet, but I do not understand how it could be worse.
I don't know how I will handle it.  I am afraid that she will spend years 10 through 17 locked in her room.
It is amazing to me that so many girls survive puberty with their moms.
I look back, and I'm trying to remember myself at this age, but I think I have blocked it all out at this point, and probably for good reason.  I think I need to find a new moms group, stat.  I see lots of late night mom's night outs in my future, if either of us are going to make it.